“Everything would be an exaggeration, but judging by your hesitance, I think I understand your concern.” Androyo’s expression softened. “What happened to my child was an unintended consequence, but only I am to blame. Perhaps if I’d had lifetimes to run a clinical trial, I might have isolated the cause of the degeneration and eliminated it, but I did not. In none of my simulations was there any indication that my child would suffer a physical ailment.”
“But it wasn’t the degeneration that killed her,” Ellie said in a small, shaky voice. “I… I killed Andryvessa.”
“No, El’iadrylline.” Androyo shook his head. “That you had your father’s grounding stone may have accelerated the degeneration, but the memories you yourself added to the archive clearly show that it was an act of self-defense which saved your life. Not only that, it was an unintended act of self-defense, so whatever guilt you are carrying is unnecessary.”
“I’m sure that makes logical sense, but I’m afraid it will take more than an impromptu therapy session to end what’s become a reoccurring nightmare.” Ellie shuddered and tried to push aside the vivid images of her grandmother’s death. Admittedly, hearing out loud what she’d tried and failed to convince herself of helped slightly, but in truth, that hadn’t been what was bothering her at all.
“You claim transcendence is how I got here,” she said, bringing the conversation back to her mental track. “You also said this will help me to find the missing information on Helsyn. What exactly does that mean?”
Androyo smiled, but his expression was one that didn’t give her confidence.
“Transcendence cannot be taught,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You’ll find ancient stories of mythological beings that could walk between realms and wielded a power so unbelievable that they chose to assume the form of lower beasts so as to remain benevolent and subservient. These stories are just that, of course, but like all mythos, you’ll find a measure of truth in inspiration. What it is you can and cannot do as a Transcendent depends entirely on the scope of your beliefs.”
“You mean faith?” Ellie asked, caught somewhere between skeptically bemused and doubtful of her own comprehension.
“Faith is an unquantifiable concept,” Androyo replied with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Lending itself to be both accurate and incorrect at the same time.”
“Well that’s conveniently vague.”
“Intentionally,” he said with a smile. “Now is not the time to dwell on the meaning of Transcendence. In doing so, you will only hamper yourself. I have given you that which you should use only as a loose guide. You have within you the means to do the rest. Go now, and make the necessary arrangements.”
“Very well, then,” Ellie said. “Goodbye for now, Great Grandfather. I expect we’ll be seeing each other again soon.”
“That will depend on you, Great Granddaughter,” he replied as he led her from the room and back into the corridor. “To your left is a secondary portal. Though not as inspiring, I always found this one to be quite easier to manage than the illusory trees.”
With a nod of gratitude, Ellie descended the staircase he indicated and tried not to dwell on the fact that she could again see no more than a few inches in front of her face. Luckily, she had a distraction. Rather, she had a head full of them, but chief among them was how she was going to get herself to the Empire’s most highly guarded planet, unnoticed, in the middle of a war.
Chapter 6
El’iadryov stood outside the archive library, unable to make himself take the extra few steps inside. Julian’s admission sat like a heavy burden on his shoulders. If he was to be believed, and the battalion had been awakened many times in the past, then the effort that went into the cover-up had to have been insurmountable. After all, the Eidyssic were meticulous record keepers, as was evidenced by the very room he now hesitated to enter.
It wasn’t that El’iadryov believed Julian to be lying. On the contrary, he’d never known the battalion commander to be anything but honest. Well, other than when he himself used the power of dominance to command Julian to deceive the empire. That he trusted Julian’s confession to be truthful was why he’d come to the archive. If there was indeed information that could fill in the blanks and answer the myriad of questions, this would be the place to find it.
But as was evidenced by his hesitation, El’iadryov hoped to find no such thing.
So much for the simplest solution, he thought as he willed himself to take the final steps into the archive. In retrospect, he should have known that changing the plan would have consequences. His actions had been optimistic at best, relying on what he’d thought he’d learned during his exile to facilitate what he’d hoped would allow his daughter the freedom to live the life he himself had denied her when he wove the Kyroibi into her being. That reality was so much more complex than he could have ever imagined was a burden he found difficult to bear.
“Former Master, it is with both joy and a heavy heart that I am able to once more entertain you here in my humble quarters. But I must admit, given the awakening, I expected to see not you, old friend, but your successor.” Rhymallian gave a formal bow before smiling kindly at the kindred soul he’d come to know quite well over the last several years. But when he saw the worry El’iadryov was unable to hide, the smile faded. “All is not well, I see,” he remarked upon closer inspection. “But I daresay your troubled countenance gives me pause.”
“I am here today with the hope that by doing so, I can spare my daughter the fate that has befallen most of our predecessors.”
Rhymallian’s expression remained as it had been; slightly curious, but not at all suspicious. El’iadryov watched carefully as he spoke, but the original master showed no sign that he knew where the conversation was leading.
“The burden of knowledge is arduous to bear,” he said easily and in earnest. “But in my meeting with El’iadrylline, I saw in her a strength that rivaled, if not surpassed, that of the strongest among us.”
El’iadryov sagged, not sure if he was relieved or agitated that Rhymallian’s words rang with honesty. Nothing in his mannerism indicated disingenuousness from the original master. Still, El’iadryov knew he could not come right out and ask what it was he wanted to know without worrying that his question might in fact skew the answer.
“Well, perhaps that is simply the father in me speaking,” he said, forcing a light chuckle. “But I think I shall take yet another perusal of our history, if you don’t mind. You never know, I might just find something I’d previously overlooked.”
“By all means, Former Master.” Rhymallian gave a courteous nod and drifted off, disappearing into the illuminations of the archive, much like a spectral spirit when presented with the light of day.
El’iadryov moved to the center dais and summoned the master list of all recorded data, searching first for the records of each and every handing off of the Kyroibi from the original master to his own acceptance. To watch all in real time would take longer than a lifetime, but after carefully selecting a handful of recordings, he settled onto the dais and immersed himself in the careful study of what he’d pulled.
At first, nothing seemed amiss. El’iadryov watched what looked to be the same exact ceremony he himself had participated in back when it was discovered that his aunt had designs on galactic domination. One ceremony bled into the next. Almost moment by moment, he could overlay each of the recordings and find a near perfect match. Nothing was amiss. Nothing stood out as anomalous.
And yet, there was something he’d not in his previous perusal considered. The battalion, while present in the memories, always seemed out of focus. As if they were never considered to be of consequence to the witness who had been recording the event. Certainly, if the awakening of the Limitless Battalion was the reason for the transfer of the Kyroibi, there should have been at least some attention given by all in attendance. Then again, even without an awakening, the Limitless Battalion was powerful, imposing, and rather difficult to ignore. It s
eemed to El’iadryov that the focus on the events of the ceremony were just a little too precise to be a natural recollection.
He called up even more memories and they were all the same. Neither Julian nor the battalion made an impact on any other witness until the time when his own grandfather brought the two halves of his daughter’s damaged Abstractive Root to the temple.
He’d dismissed the memory as tainted because he knew what Androyo had done, but this time, instead of focusing on how the Kyroibi chose his mother, El’iadryov focused on the dormant army. Not a single eye in the temple held the light of awakening.
Not until the reassigning of the true master, that is.
El’iadryov studied the memory again. This time, instead of focusing on Androyo and the transfer to Dryova, he watched Andressa, whose attention had shifted once she realized she was not to assume the burden of knowledge. Her eyes had been locked on Julian, clearly awed by the potential for power she saw in taking dominion of the commander.
But just for a moment, as the Kyroibi was passed from father to daughter, Andressa’s attention was drawn to the battalion itself. There, and only briefly, was the thrum of awakening present. More curious even than that, El’iadryov was certain he caught the tell-tale flash of silver reflected back in Andressa’s eyes. Despite the tampering, this one clue remained. El’iadryov could not help wondering if perhaps it had been intentional.
Julian’s mind warred with his body as he awaited El’iadryov’s arrival at the temple summit. The former master had taken the truth with as much grace and stoicism as could be expected, but Julian had seen the inner turmoil that was impossible to hide. Given that he'd just learned the biggest burden he carried in life was shrouded in secrets nearly as old as civilization itself, it was no surprise El’iadryov’s first thought was to gather for himself the facts required to uncover the truth.
But El’iadryov’s retreat to the archive had been days ago. Julian could not patiently wait for much longer. By the moment, the battalion’s need for orders pulled him in. His will, strengthened as it was through meditation, could only hold out for so long. He cursed the architecture of his construction and the restriction built within that barred him from entering the archive. If the former master did not emerge soon, Julian would have no choice but to leave the planet or go through with his plans for its destruction.
He would not leave, of course. Doing anything to put Ellie at risk was out of the question. He lived and died secure in the knowledge that he did so to keep safe his master and true love. But by the same conviction, nor could he destroy the planet while her father’s abstraction remained fused within the stone. He could not go to his death knowingly hurting her on such a deep level.
Which meant his only recourse was to hold back the will of the battalion. A feat that was becoming increasingly difficult as their pull grew stronger. Made nearly impossible by the even more irresistible desire to see her again. There was no point in wallowing in that which could never be, but Julian found his heart to be stubbornly immune to stone cold logic. Either he made the sacrifice or she did. There was no happy ending for those whose fate was hinged on a rash decision made eons in the past.
He’d all but convinced himself he could override the obstruction keeping him out of the archive when El’iadryov did finally emerge. As he reached the summit, Julian could see lines of worry deepening on his brow.
“I expect you did not find much to refute my claims, but I suspect you also found little to back them as well.”
El’iadryov raised his eyebrows and gave a weary nod.
“El’iadrylline is correct. We dare call ourselves the enlightened ones, but ours is a civilization built lie upon lie. I can’t say I’m not a bit overwhelmed at the moment.”
Julian said nothing, but nodded his agreement. In truth there was not much he could say without causing even more distress.
“Were you a witness at every passing?” El’iadryov’s question cut through the blanket of silence that had descended.
Julian looked away, taken off guard by the question and not at all keen to answer it honestly.
“If the battalion was awakened, I was… needed.”
El’iadryov’s diodes alit with curiosity at Julian's wording.
“So there is a possibility that some of the Masters transferred the Kyroibi in times of peace?”
“Theoretically, yes,” Julian replied. “As I would not be needed, I would have no recollection of the event. However, if there exists a record in which a true master has a full recollection of their own assumption of the burden, you may find an instance where the battalion was not awakened.”
El’iadryov chuckled, but it was mirthless.
“I can't even fathom how many lifetimes such a search would require. But I'm curious. What do you mean when you say you were needed at the transference?”
Julian did not immediately speak, but his discomfort spoke for him.
“I see,” El’iadryov said with a quiet sigh. “Funny. I assumed your role as an assassin was…”
“I believe Andressa presented me to the emperor as a construct of her creation, but no, my role was always to eliminate the biggest threat to peace.”
The anguish in his words confirmed that which neither had voiced.
“Androyo?”
The name tumbled from El’iadryov’s lips before his brain had a chance to decide if he truly wanted to know, but Julian shook his head.
“Your grandfather was paradoxically successful in that his machinations did indeed prevent the awakening of the battalion for two generations. But in the modification of his own successor, he created exactly that which the battalion was intended to stop.”
“Except that the battalion was intended not just to stop a singular threat. Are they not to erase every perceived threat by any means necessary?”
“Extinction of all higher functioning civilizations in the known galaxy,” Julian confirmed with a curt nod. “Which is why it is imperative that we begin your ascension.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let go just yet,” El’iadryov said. “It’s not just what you told me. To be honest, I’ve always had a feeling there was more to the Kyroibi than I was allowed. Even the secrets Master Rhymallian shared with me were but a fraction of the truth we’ve tried to hide.”
“Forgive me, former master, but the longer we stay here, the harder it will be to resist the role I am supposed to play. The battalion awaits their orders.”
“You want me gone, I understand, and I’m still not one hundred percent behind what you are going to do. For that matter, as the battalion commander, I’m not entirely sure how you’re going to…” El’iadryov fell into awkward silence, unable to find the eloquence required to tactfully express what basically amounted to suicide. “But neither will I stand in your way. Do what is needed to shut down the battalion.”
Julian grimaced.
“El’iadryov, I do not plan to simply shut down the battalion.”
“Oh?”
Julian watched as confusion turned to horrified understanding.
“You intend to destroy them.”
“I intend to destroy Ia’na Eidyn.”
“I don’t understand.”
“By weaving the Kyroibi into El’iadrylline’s genetic code, you have changed the power structure. She can no longer select a successor. The Kyroibi must now be passed down genetically. In doing so, the battalion would again awaken, but this time, there would be no former master to satiate the need for order. The successor would have no choice but to command the battalion or create a potential paradox as the Kyroibi is destroyed by that which it was intended to command. And even then, I do not know if that would stop the systematic destruction of all life in the galaxy.”
Cold tendrils gripped El’iadryov’s heart at the realization of what he’d done. Had he the ability to bend time, he would go back and carefully consider the rationality of his actions. That he’d put his daughter into such a position had of course, never been his int
ention, but there was nothing he could do now.
“Well then,” he said with a sinking sense of dread. “I’m afraid we’re at an impasse. Julian, I assure you, destroying the planet will not destroy the battalion. It will only set in motion the events of our demise.”
“I plan to take the planet out of the artificial orbit our ancestors engineered. The pull of our dying star will be too great to resist. Within hours, Ia’na Eidyn will be no more.”
“The planet yes, but Julian, listen to what I am saying. You can’t destroy them. The moment you do something to try, they will activate. Rhymallian explained this. Perhaps you may gain a little insight by visiting the archive.”
“I am not allowed into the archive. Had I been, I would have requested you come out days ago.”
“That actually makes tragic sense,” El’iadryov muttered with a heavy heart.
“Does it?”
“More than I have the heart to explain,” he replied heavily.
Julian turned, confused by the deep emotional sadness displayed across the former master’s diodes.
“Perhaps you might find it unburdening to try,” he suggested.
“Your construction remains a mystery,” El’iadryov explained. “Deliberately so, I’d imagine.”
“This has been debated,” Julian supplied, still confused by El’iadryov’s hesitation. “Would there be a need to replicate the battalion, all hope for peace would be lost.”
“Perhaps, yes, but I think there is more,” El’iadryov said with a thoughtful expression. “The only way to destroy the battalion is to return that which was taken in order to maintain dominance.”
“The Kyroibi?”
“Yes, but I’m not entirely sure what that means.” El’iadryov turned away with a sigh. “The ancient texts refer to this as Rhymallian’s great sacrifice. I can’t help but wonder…” He faltered, as if whatever had occurred caused the former master great pain.
“Wonder what?” Julian asked, interest piqued.
“What exactly it was Rhymallian sacrificed. Rather,” El’iadryov cut off and pierced Julian with a critical stare. “Who exactly he sacrificed.”
The Needs of the Many Page 5